


I, Marie Griffiths, Have A Story To Tell

by Hannah_92



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah_92/pseuds/Hannah_92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And I doubt that anyone will believe me.<br/>I moved to America in my early twenties as a journalism graduate from the University of Westminster, London. Headhunted from my post as a columnist for a well-regarded paper in the UK, I relocated to Philadelphia to write for the Inquirer.<br/>While researching for my first article I came across something…odd. People were dying in unexplained ways and – the rookie I was – I decided to investigate.<br/>This was how I met the Winchester brothers and got dragged into their ridiculous lifestyle battling the Supernatural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting for the first time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Imagine Sam, Dean and Castiel all meeting you for the first time](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/32649) by Anon. 



> This is a series of one-shot episodes.  
> They are all based on 'Supernatural Imagines' from the supernaturalimagine|tumblr each post will be credited at the beginning of each chapter.

I, Marie Griffiths, have a story to tell. And I doubt that anyone will believe me.

I moved to America in my early twenties as a journalism graduate from the University of Westminster, London. Headhunted from my post as a columnist for a well-regarded paper in the UK, I relocated to Philadelphia to write for the Inquirer.

While researching for my first article I came across something…odd. People were dying in unexplained ways and – the rookie I was – I decided to investigate. I was a good journalist. I had maps on my cubicle wall at work pinned with the locations of the deaths. I made lists of differences, of similarities between them. I’d worked out a possible…probable location for the next. And I hid there.

I hid in the dark, behind a pillar in a disused warehouse in the southwest of the city near the airport. Plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling in shreds and dark silhouettes of objects loomed. I removed my glasses and scrubbed them on the hem of my shirt. My Dictaphone was clipped to the side of my bag, recording…well, recording mostly silence for now, but I was going to use it to record…I wasn’t really sure what.

A high-pitched scream pierced the cool darkness. There was scuffling, a single man being attacked by a single woman…so who was grabbing hold of my arm? My own scream died in my throat as a ridiculously attractive man leapt past me and launched himself at the pair. A serious, slightly confused looking man took hold of me as a third threw himself into the fray unfolding before me.

Before I was really aware of what was going on, a blade had appeared from somewhere, and the woman seemed to no longer have a head.

“Dude, I was coping.”

“Nah, man. You needed my backup.” The two who’d rushed into the fray wandered back towards me and the confused looking man, supporting the man who’d been attacked – he appeared to be unconscious, which was probably for the best. They were joking over his bowed head as if this was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. I raised an eyebrow at them – even more so when the confused man caught hold of my arm again and yanked me after them as they left the warehouse.

They unceremoniously dumped the man on his front doorstep having found his address on his driver’s license. It was as though they’d forgotten about me, sat in the back of their old, decrepit car with the confused man. He was still grimly holding onto my arm, as though he expected me to vanish into thin air at the slightest provocation.

They got back into the car, but didn’t turn over the engine. They twisted in their seats and looked into the back of the car.

“So…who’re you?” The one who spoke had short, dark hair and startlingly green eyes.

“What does it matter to you?” I was extremely aware of my accent becoming stronger, more British by the second, as I tried to appear nonchalant. My attempt was failing miserably, even I could sense that, but still I had to maintain the façade. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned.

“Nothing. Except we want to know who you are and why you were in the warehouse tonight.” The other one spoke now, floppy hair a shade or two lighter than the previous speaker and eyes a shade more towards hazel.

“I’m a journalist…I was researching.”

“Yeah…in an abandoned warehouse. In the middle of the night.”

“Well if it comes to that, why were you there?” My line of argument was weak to my own ears and I flopped against the upholstery of the seat. I glanced at the floor of the car and let my head droop. I could feel their three pairs of eyes boring into me. “Fine. I give up. Could you let go now, please?” I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “You’re holding on far too tightly.” The man let go of my arm with a surprised noise. “Thank you. Before I tell you anything, though, I want to know who you are.” They exchanged non-committal looks and shrugged.

“I’m Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam and…that’s Cas.” I blinked at Dean.

“And he’s another brother, or…?”

“Nope, not a brother just…someone who tags along.”

“Oh.” It was the first thing I’d heard the confused man say, and I looked at him, startled. His voice was surprisingly deep.

“Ok…” I had always been bad at introducing myself. “Well, I’m Marie. Marie Griffiths. Hi!” I gave a little wave before I could stop myself and blushed painfully. Dean screwed up his mouth to stop a smile, but Sam just let it spread across his face. “So…why were you there? I mean, it’s an odd place for me to be, but I do at least have a reason.”

“Pretty much the same reason as you. We heard about the deaths, figured there was a vamp nest nearby, came to investigate and get rid of them.” Sam trailed off as I held up a hand and shook my head.

“Did you just say vamps. Please tell me you didn’t just say vamps. And if you did, say they aren’t sparkly and somewhat...lame?” This caused a hiccup of laughter from the brothers.

“I…don’t understand that reference.” I glanced sideways at Cas.

“He’s not from around here, is he?” The brothers shared a look of surprise.

“No…he’s definitely not from around here.” Dean spoke slowly, but not as though he was treating me as some kind of lunatic.

“So, vamps? Sparkly or non-sparkly?”

“Non-sparkly. Actually quite scary, if you’re into that kind of thing.” His eyes crinkled again as he smiled.

“Non-sparkly, quite scary. I can see that. So that’s how you kill them? You cut off their heads?”

“How aren’t you freaking out about this?” Sam sounded genuinely confused.

“Err, hello? Raised on Tolkein, Rowling, Lewis? The supernatural is practically my normal. Plus, I’m British. Even if I was scared you probably wouldn’t know about it until…until I was so scared that I was unable to control my reactions.”

“Ok, great. So now you know too much but we can’t drag someone else into our shitty lifestyle. Dean, what are we going to do?” Dean gave his brother a scathing look.

“How about we ask her, bitch?”

“Jerk.” Sam mumbled under his breath.

“Marie…as he said…you know what would be classed as too much information about the supernatural now…so you have two choices.” I gave him my best school-teacher look.

“You mean I can choose to throw in the towel on my job at the paper and run away with you three on a wild whirl wind adventure around the country – which would, by the way, see my visa expire – or I can choose to go back to my comfortable apartment on the upper north side of the city, stay in my cushy job, and eventually be promoted to editor in chief?” He nodded mutely. I sighed like it was a difficult decision to make. “Take me back to my apartment. I have some packing to do.”


	2. Stage one: geting Marie comfortable around guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: guns.
> 
> Also, use of foul language. I do use swears in my writing. Sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Imagine Dean teaching you how to shoot a gun/kill a demon by Anon.
> 
> http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/62784443799/submitted-by-anon

In the few days since I’d convinced my boss to let me become a roaming reporter and sub-let my apartment in Philly, I had moved to Kansas and into what the boys called the bunker. It turned out it was just as well I’d left most of my belongings in storage in England, as the only form of transport available was the slightly beaten-up Impala Dean drove. It had a spacious back seat and even leg room to spare for Sam in the front (I’d measured – his hips were at the level of my waist), but since the boot was full of guns and salt there wasn’t too much room to move belongings around. To be fair to the old girl, she drove well considering what Dean put her through, and the only complaint I had about her was the stereo. Or rather the selection of cassette tapes stored under the front passenger seat. I consoled myself by listening to soft jazz over my headphones in the back seat, attempting to drown out AC/DC with Nat ‘King’ Cole, an attempt which would have failed if I hadn’t begun singing along. I hadn’t noticed that Dean had turned off the stereo until I realised the car had come to a halt at the side of the road and I found I was still proclaiming that love was all that I could give to them, and that love was made for me and them at the top of my voice.

“Uh…what?” I blushed so hard my face clashed with the colour of my hair as Dean craned around in his seat to look at me more closely.

“N-nothing. C-carry on.” I sank lower in my seat.

“No, you can sing?”

“Well why shouldn’t I be able to sing?”

“It’s not that you shouldn’t. It’s just unexpected. I like it.” Sam turned on him.

“You like it? You like smooth jazz and Nat ‘King’ Cole now?”

“Just because I choose to listen to driving music doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate other types, Sammy.” Dean was trying to be aloof but he was failing miserably.

“Dude, you never said you liked jazz.”

“Why would I? I knew I’d get a reaction like that!” I was sat hunkered down in my seat, listening to them bickering companionably when Cas suddenly appeared in the space next to me. 

“What the fuck?!” I screeched with considerable volume and scrambled against the door. “Cas! Jesus Christ!” I’d calmly taken the news that Cas was an angel, but I hadn’t quite got used to his habit of popping in and out of existence.

“I’m sorry.” He looked blandly through the windshield. “Is there a reason the car is stationary?” Dean, who’d whipped his head around faster than I would have thought possible when I’d screamed, massaged his neck and scowled foully at Cas.

“Yes, there was. You really need to call before you do that, Cas.”

“But I already know your location, it makes sense for me to come directly to you.”

“Fuck sake, Cas! You nearly gave Marie a heart attack and you’ve definitely given me a cricked neck.” Cas reached out two fingers and pressed them to the back of Dean’s neck. A faint white glow emanated from the two of them and Dean moved his neck easily. “Ok, fine, you’re forgiven, but you can’t just turn up like that.” He started the engine again and Back in Black pounded out of the speakers. I resigned myself to his music choice and put my headphones away.

-

After a couple of days at the bunker it became clear that I would have almost no time for writing for the paper; luckily my thrice-revised contract was for a weekly letters page in the Saturday issue giving me plenty of time to clean up after the boys and make the sparse building more homely. Sam tried to resist my attempts, but Dean actively supported my endeavours, especially when they involved my presence in the kitchen. Although he was unwilling to show it, Dean was equally at ease in the kitchen as he was in the garage, and too often I’d had to tell him to wash up between tinkering with Baby’s engine and coming in to help me bake.

It was during a lazy Sunday a few weeks into my stay that Dean brought up the subject of hunting. He and Sam would often go off for a few days at a time leaving me in the bunker – Dean liked to play a game of spot-the-difference between leaving and coming back – calling in at least once a day to let me know they hadn’t died. Dean knew I enjoyed my periods of solitude; we’d had plenty of opportunities to talk while waiting for things to cook – I’d perch on the counter top and he’d lean against the one opposite – but we’d never discussed the skills involved in hunting until that time. The moment he chose to bring it up wasn’t the most opportune one – two timers had just gone off and I’d completely lost track of the recipe I was following, so I was running around the kitchen like a headless chicken scrambling to get everything together.

“So…how would you feel about some training?” He said it nonchalantly, still leaning against the work surface. I stopped mid rush and felt as though I must look like a particularly startled Disney character with drooping, full hands threatening to drop their contents, and mouth agape.

“Dean!” I spluttered, stalling. “Can I just…?” He nodded, grinning.

Once the pie in question was safely topped, pricked and basted, and put into the oven I gave his question some serious thought. Wiping my floury hands on the tea towel he held out for me I tilted my head at him.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“I just thought…I know you like being on your own here…but maybe you’d like to come with us, see what we do from a more experienced point of view?” He sounded unreasonably nervous.

“I-I’d like that very much, but you know how nervous I get around guns.”

“That’s stage one then. Getting Marie comfortable around guns. Then we can get on to you actually shooting them.”

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, Dean.” Sam poked his head into the kitchen.

“That smells really, really good. What is it?”

“Cherry pie.” I looked smugly at Dean, who grinned back.

“Nice." He nodded approvingly. "Dude, I think we have a lead.”

“Now?” He whined, uncharacteristically childish.

“Yes, now. Well, tomorrow anyway. You can have your pie. For once.”

-

Dean, having eaten virtually the entire pie by himself, insisted on a nap before he'd let me near a gun. I didn't mind, particularly. Guns had always made me nervous; in England possession of guns was highly regulated by law, and really the only people with them were the police, farmers and posh types who went hunting. Even then, they were only shotguns and rifles...things which posed significantly less danger to the person wielding them than the person at the other end. I just knew that with my luck and a hand gun I'd be the only person in danger.

When he eventually woke up (after several hours) and inhaled three mugs of coffee in short succession, he led me to a chamber I'd not yet been in. This was just as well, as it could quite easily have been described as my worst nightmare. Guns of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, and I flinched towards Dean and the centre of the room. He dropped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"Are you ok?" He sounded genuinely concerned for me, so I shook myself and nodded as bravely as I could.

"I'll be fine." He squeezed my shoulder again and wandered around the room, choosing a selection of guns for me to try. "I'm not so sure I'm fine!" The words escaped before I could reign them back. He raised his eyebrows at me and backed off a couple of steps. "Th-that's a bit better, thank you."

"We need to go into the other room anyway. I'll go first and you...come in when you're ready." I took a few steadying breaths and closed my eyes. What was the worst that could happen? No. That was a bad place to go. I shook my head firmly and opened my eyes again. Both Sam and Dean were standing watching me with expressions of confusion.

"What? I needed to give myself a pep talk!" Sam smirked and winked at Dean.

"You'll have your hands full with this one."

"Eh, she'll be fine." He came back into the room and took hold of my hand, and led me slowly into the adjoining chamber. It had been fitted out as a gun range with targets and a special lining on the walls which would prevent bullets bouncing back off them. He walked me to the table on which he'd placed the guns. I followed reluctantly, dragging my feet and pulling a discontented expression. "Marie, you'll be fine, you hear me? You won't hurt me, and you won't hurt you. I swear." I gave him a weakly dismissive look and swallowed hard.

"Let's get this over with." My voice came out rather more hoarse than I'd intended, and I winced.

"Are you sure you don't want a moment? Or a glass of water?"

"I'm fine, Dean. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish and I can get back to a life which doesn't involve handling guns any more than necessary." He gave me an odd look, and shrugged.

"Ok then, we'll start small."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?!" I squeaked at him.

"Yes. Less kick-back, less length to control." I tried desperately to hold on to the nervous giggles which threatened to bubble up uncontrollably. "Generally easier to handle." It was far too late by this point for me to even think of regaining any control over myself, and I began laughing so hard I slumped on the floor, shoulders shaking and tears streaming down my face. "Jesus, Marie. What's wrong with you?" Sam came running in.

"What the...Marie?"

"Hang-hang on a-a moment." I tried desperately to control the spasms of laughter shaking me. After a few deep breaths, I thought I had the situation under control. "Sorry. Nerves plus a sense of humour which belongs in the gutter. Phew." I exhaled and closed my eyes for a moment. "Ok, I'm alright now."

"I bloody well hope so." Dean looked nervous for the first time as I took my place beside him. "Normally I'd give you ear muffs, but all ours have gone missing. It will be loud."

He put the gun in my hands and I looked at it. Vague memories of a certain episode of _Torchwood_ surfaced, and I pointed the gun away from me, more downwards than up, balanced in one hand, the other supporting my wrist. I looked to Dean for confirmation, and he had a look of pride on his face.

"Good, well done. Always keep it pointing away from you, and away from anyone on your side. Ok, snap the safety off - good. Aim for the centre target..." He moved to stand close behind me, his limbs fitting around mine like a shell around a nut, his hands covering mine and directing my fingers. "Take a breath - and fire." The bullet somehow hit the centre of the target, and my limbs drooped with relief, some self-preservation instinct directing the muzzle of the gun away from my feet. "Super." He was standing so close his voice was vibrating through my back. "Let's try that again." We repeated the exercise a few times with him supporting me, and each time the bullets met the centre of the target. "You ready to fly solo?" There was a laugh in his voice and I smiled as I met his eyes.

"Go on, then." He took a step backwards, and I lined up as he'd shown me, took a breath and pulled the trigger, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Much to my surprise the bullet flew true and struck the dead centre of the target. Snapping the safety back on, I whirled around to look at him, elation filling me. His eyes were full of pride and a smile stretched across his face.

"I'm impressed!" He closed the gap between us and took the gun from me. "Enough for now?"

"I think I'm ready for a tea break!" I laughed and sagged against him. "Is there always such an adrenaline rush?"

"You get used to it." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Well done, though."

"Thanks."


	3. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by: http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/69307947012/submitted-by-watsonsjumperanddeansjacket
> 
> Imagine convincing Dean to sing ‘Baby, it’s Cold Outside’ with you as you decorate the bunker for the holidays

“…And as if that wasn’t bad enough, now I’m stuck in here, by myself, because you two have gone off on a wild goose chase! I am not happy, Dean! It’s Christmas. You need to get your ass back here. I refuse to spend my first Christmas in the US by myself in the bunker!” It was abundantly clear to all who could hear me (myself, a couple of bats lurking in the roof insulation, Crowley in his little devil’s trap, and Dean at the other end of the phone) that I was a rabbit of negative euphoria. Dean was struggling to understand my irritation.

“Marie, it’s only -”

“Don’t you dare say it’s only a day, Dean Winchester!” I was really excelling myself with my display of anger. Dean didn’t know it but I was storming around the bunker, smacking a rolled up magazine against anything and everything I came across. “It is more than just a day and I am determined to -” The bunker door burst open, and the man himself strode in, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Sam snuck in behind him and closed the door.

“You fucker! You scheming, smarmy fucker!” I hung up the phone and flung it on the nearest desk before taking the stairs three at a time and laying into him with my magazine. “How!” Whack. “Dare!” Whump. “You!” Thwack. “Treat!” Crack. “Me!” Thud. “Like!” Smack. “This!” I laid a few hits on Sam, too, and they stood on the balcony of the bunker looking at me in shock.

I blew a few tendrils of hair out of my face and stood in front of them breathing heavily and feeling a little like I’d just done a few rounds in a boxing ring. From the depths of the chambers, Crowley’s laughter echoed.

“And don’t you even think about hoping I won’t be taking this out on you, too, Crowley!” The venom in my tone surprised even me. I dropped the magazine and slunk back down the stairs. I could hear the boys whispering behind me and I whirled to face them, halfway down the stairs. Dean cut in before I could launch into another tirade.

“Marie! Stop. We’ve upset you. We know this. We’re sorry.”

“Sorry?! Sorry?! Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it, Dean! When I woke up, your beds were empty! No note! Car gone – could have crashed, could have died – I was out of my mind with worry – did you care? No! Of course not! Why would you give a damn about me?!” I spun back and carried on down the stairs. “I’ve a mind to take Dorothy’s bike and get the hell out of here while I still can! Before one of you two dies on me!” I tried to storm into my room, but a pair of hands clamped down on my upper arms.

“No. You’re not getting to walk away from me angry, Marie.” Dean wrapped his arms around my torso, pinning my arms to my side. “I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Neither of us did.” He was murmuring into my ear and holding me so tightly to him that I nearly gave up. “We wanted to give you a surprise.” He sounded…sad.

I wriggled and twisted in his grasp so that I was facing him. It took a moment for me to realise we were far, far too close, and I pushed against his chest – hard – to give myself some breathing room.

“A surprise?” I cocked my head, and was temporarily blinded by the curtain of tangled red hair which fell across my eyes. Dean smoothed it back into place and gave me a sad smile.

“Merry Christmas.” He gently turned me to look at Sam on the balcony. He was standing somewhat sheepishly in front of one of the biggest Christmas trees I’d ever seen. With a step or two to one side, he revealed a massive box of decorations, and I couldn’t help but smile. I dropped my head and glanced at Dean. There was a lingering air of something which felt almost like fear, and I wrapped an arm around his waist, resting my head on his shoulder. He flinched as I touched him, but settled an arm across my shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I over reacted. I’ve spent too much time being abandoned by people to take it well when…yeah, well.”

“When what?” His voice was suspiciously gruff and I looked at him through my lashes.

“When people I’ve come to depend on suddenly disappear.” He cleared his throat and I squeezed him to my side. “Ok, then. Where are we going to put this tree?”

-

Once the tree was in situ, Sam wanted to do some research on something-or-other (I’d basically stopped paying attention to what they were doing when they went hunting – sometimes I went too, sometimes I didn’t; most of the time I was some kind of glorified housekeeper), so Dean and I were left doing the decorating by ourselves. I ducked into my room and pulled out my laptop. Plugging in some small speakers, I selected my Christmas playlist and pressed play.

The opening chords of Fairytale of New York floated from the speakers as I hopped back over to the box of lights and selected a snarl to detangle. I perched myself on the end of a desk and handed Dean the plug. We worked in companionable silence, occasionally singing along to whichever song was on at the time. By the time I was at the top of the step ladder preparing to nestle the free end of the lights at the crown of the tree, we’d got through the majority of the carols and were back on well-known songs. As I stretched to bridge the gap between me and the top of the tree – Dean standing at the bottom with his arms full of detangled lights – the familiar drum beat of Baby, it’s Cold Outside began.

“Sing with me, Dean?” I looked down at him and instantly regretted the decision. My knees turned to jelly and my palms and feet began to sweat profusely. “Please?” I’d forgotten how much I hated heights – mostly because I usually made a conscious effort to avoid them – and being with the Winchesters…well, it stripped me of most of my fears. “Otherwise I fear I may fall off this ladder.”

“Fine.” He grumbled a bit, but then started singing along with a surprisingly pleasant, rich baritone. I joined in, and between us – and a lot of shifting of the ladder – we soon had a light scattered tree. He plugged in the lights and turned off the main lights before demanding I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the only source of light was the tree, sparkling in beautiful multicolour as the lights faded in and out.

“Bauble time!” He snuck up behind me and hugged me. 

“You did well with those lights. Very evenly spaced.”

“Thanks.” I broke from his grasp and ran to the box Sam had brought down from the balcony. We spent a few minutes organising the baubles by size, and I made the decision to stay on the floor this time.

By the time we were finished, the tree looked spectacular – the lights were reflecting on the glossy silver, red and green baubles which ranged in size from no bigger than a chestnut at the top to the size of a small football at the bottom.

“I am very impressed with our tree decorating!” We slapped a high five, and Dean dug in the box for the topped – a large silver star. He called Sam in from his room, and sent him up the ladder to put it in position.

“Awesome.”

“It is, rather.” Wrapping an arm around each brother, I pulled them closer to me. “I’m sorry I freaked out. It’s going to be a lovely Christmas.”


	4. A Step Too Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by: http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/65289680037/submitted-by-guardian-of-horsemen-and-dragons
> 
> Imagine being caught under the mistletoe with one of the Winchester brothers

I hadn’t recalled buying, seeing, or previously having had any awareness of there being mistletoe in the bunker, but sure enough, there some was, dangling innocently above me. I scowled at the door lintel. Sam had told me that they had a challenge for me – if I got caught under the mistletoe without someone immediately present to kiss, I had to wait for the next person to turn up. As a result, I had been stood in one spot by the front door for the past hour and my legs were about to give out from under me. A key grated in the lock and I smoothed my hair, subconsciously licking my lips. Dean stepped in with a paper bag full of groceries in his arms. He gave me an odd look when he noticed me standing just inside the door, and skirted around me.

“You ok, Marie?”

“Look, could you kiss me, please?” I hadn’t exactly intended on being so blunt, but I’d been waiting patiently for what felt like days and I had things to be getting on with.

“You…what?” He put the groceries down, leaning them against the balustrade and moving to stand in front of me.

“Sam…basically dared me to stand here until someone came along to kiss me. I mean he didn’t say, ‘Go and stand by the front door and wait for someone and make them kiss you’, but he told me that if I got caught under mistletoe without someone there to kiss…I’d have to wait. He’s been sitting just inside his bedroom for the past hour watching me.”

“An hour?”

“I think he wanted to go to the loo, but felt he’d have to be the one to do the kissing if he did that.”

“And you think he doesn’t want to do that?” Dean frowned at me slightly. Sam himself then emerged from his room and leant against the frame, arms folded against his chest.

“It wasn’t that, so much,” he began, “more that I thought you might want to kiss her.” He laughed when he saw I’d blushed a deep red, and Dean’s neck had flushed. He sauntered across the main room to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. I looked anxiously at Dean.

“Please? I…don’t want to be persecuted forever for not completing the dare.” Dean was obviously unwilling to do it, which hurt me more than I thought it should. I dipped my head and felt my shoulders slump. His hand brushed a few strands of hair back behind my ear…stroked my jaw…I looked up and found he was closer than I’d realised.

“I mean it -” I never finished my sentence. Dean cupped my face in his hands, one of his thumbs caressed my lower lip and he lowered his face to mine.

The kiss was short, but sweet and tender and almost felt as if it lasted a lifetime. Although his lips were slightly dry and chapped against mine, they were warm and moulded to mine. I was loathe to let him pull away, but my hands hadn’t made it up from where they were hanging by my sides.

A flash went off just as he began to pull away and Sam bounced back down the stairs punching the air triumphantly. Dean let his fingertips brush down my neck as he pulled away and gave me a smile, before he turned away and picked up his bag of groceries again.

Shock coursed through me.

I could not be in love with Dean Winchester. That was entirely inconvenient, and would definitely end in tears.


	5. Tumblr, Tumblr, everywhere...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one!
> 
> Inspired by: http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/64447089835/submitted-by-tales-of-a-tardisgirl
> 
> Imagine Sam, Dean and Cas finding your Tumblr
> 
> (I got a bit sidetracked)

Christmas Day was nearly over, and I had definitely overcompensated for Cas’ no alcohol policy. I’d overcompensated to the extent that I’d forgotten to log out of my Tumblr account, or even to pick up my laptop, before wending my rather wobbly way to bed.

Naturally, I didn’t find this out until Boxing Day (or what Dean and Sam insisted was just plain old 26th December) when I had a stinker of a headache and frankly would rather have had my head in a box than be stumbling around the bunker on a hunt for my laptop.

I was hesitant to knock on Dean’s door – the awkwardness of that mistletoe kiss was only just beginning to ease, and I was becoming more and more convinced that I was either already in love with him or was going to be very shortly. I took a deep breath and rapped on his door, wincing at the sound. There was scuffling and he emerged with tousled hair and no shirt.

“Uh…hi?” I shuffled awkwardly.

“Did you see my laptop?”

“What…?”

“Dean, you have my laptop.” I’d taken a sidestep and peered around him, trying to avoid looking at his chest…or his back…or his stomach…or…I mentally shook myself and pushed his door open wider. “Why do you have my laptop?” His eyes widened, and I resisted the temptation to remove the sleepy dust from the corners of them.

“Umm…”

“I don’t really think you have an excuse.” My head protested as I lifted my voice above a loud whisper for the first time. “If the room wasn’t spinning just now I would go and get it.” I staggered against the door and clung grimly onto the handle, willing my stomach to settle. “Shit.” I lunged away from his room and into the bathroom – conveniently located next door. In my haste I didn’t shut the bathroom door behind me and his hands were suddenly gathering my hair and holding it out of the way as I vomited somewhat pathetically into the toilet bowl. I pulled a hair band from my wrist and attempted to tie my hair back, but the movement caused a second wave of nausea.

Sam appeared in the doorway as Dean was tying my hair into a semblance of a pony tail.

“Are you ok?”

“I think I overindulged.” My voice was hoarse. “I’ll just have a quick nap here.”

“Ohh no you don’t.” Dean lifted me as carefully as possible, and my stomach rolled. “You are going to have a nap on a bed with a bowl next to you and a glass of water on the bedside table.

“I hate alcohol.”

“You didn’t last night.” Dean’s tone was mild.

“Oh God what did I do?”

“I might tell you when you’re a little less…sick.”

“Oh God.”

-

When I surfaced for the second time, I felt significantly better. I sat up gingerly, and when my stomach didn’t roll menacingly I smiled. My laptop had been put back on its side of the bed, and I lifted the lid…directly onto my Tumblr dashboard. I looked at the other open tabs…Facebook, Twitter…and my blog itself.

“Bollocks.” I slumped against the wall. A quiet knocking sounded at the door. “Come in, it’s safe. I’m not covered with sick and I no longer feel the need to vomit.” Dean opened my door and stepped in, still only wearing his boxers. He climbed into bed next to me and pulled the covers up to his chin.

“How’re you doing?”

“You guys saw my Tumblr.”

“You were drunk blogging all day yesterday. Some of your posts seem to have been rather popular. This one for example.” He pointed at a photo clearly taken on my webcam of him kissing my cheek and me grinning excitedly. “And this one.” He pointed at another photo, this time of him looking incredibly grumpy as I held mistletoe over him. Sam was wimping out of kissing his cheek and I was cracking up. Cas was just visible in the background frowning slightly. “Apparently your followers think we’re rather attractive.” I snuffled into my hands and glanced at him. It was too easy to imagine sleeping next to him. Too easy to imagine spending the rest of my life next to him. I stopped that particular train of thought and returned to the thought of them having found my blog.

“So…how much of my blog did you look through?” I was 90% sure I’d posted something about falling for one of the guys I lived with.

“Just the stuff you posted yesterday.”

“Oh thank God.”

“Why?”

“It’s just…it’s my blog, you know? It’s not exactly private, but it is personal.”

“I know.” He brushed the backs of his fingers down my cheek and climbed back out of bed. “I’m going to do a quick fry up. You in?”

“Definitely.” Dean’s fry ups were legend.


	6. Panic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another very short one, I'm afraid, but I rather like it.
> 
> Inspired by: http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/65528017495/submitted-by-anon
> 
> Imagine Dean and Sam comforting you after a panic attack.

A couple of months into my time with the Winchesters, there were still many sides of me they didn’t know.

At some point during one panic-stricken night, I’d slumped heavily against the wall, crumpled into a pile of weak limbs and aching body and pounding head. The demons I was fighting were ones no-one could see, ones no-one but me could fight. And I wasn’t strong enough to fight them.

They found me the next morning, a cried-out, broken version of me. A version of me who jerked away from the sound of the opening door so hard that I cracked my head on the wall. A version of me who simply let more tears pour from my eyes as pain blinded me. A version of me who didn’t resist when Dean slipped one arm under my knees and wrapped the other tightly round my back and lifted me up. A version of me who had no energy left to support my own head.

I didn’t think I had any tears left until they started showering me with kindness. Dean put me on the bed and sat next to me, wrapping one arm tightly around my shoulders and tucking a blanket around me with the other. Sam put the kettle on and made me a mug of tea exactly as I like it – strong and milky with far too much sugar to be good for me. Between them they made me as comfortable as I could be. Eventually the tears leaking pathetically from the corners of my eyes became too much for Dean and he pulled me – blanket and all – onto his lap, cradling me like an oversized baby in his arms, making gentle cooing and shushing noises as his hands rubbed slow circles into my upper arms and back. Sam was hovering anxiously in the periphery of my consciousness – clearly aware that for another person to be comforting me would be a disaster. He rummaged unsuccessfully in the tiny fridge I’d installed in my room and emerged looking confused.

“When do you think she last got food in?” he gestured at the shelves – the crust of a loaf of bread sat mouldering slighting on one, a box of eggs empty bar one on the other. The bottle of milk had been the only item in date and even vaguely useable. Dean shrugged. “I’m going on a food run.”

In Sam’s absence, Dean let his guard down. He pulled me against him even more closely and pressed kisses to my forehead, rocking us both gently.

“What’ve you been going through, hmm?” His throat vibrated on the top of my head. “What demons have you been fighting?”


	7. Maintaining Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh God. I got very distracted while writing this.  
> Also, this is M rated.  
> Definitely M rated.  
> Sexy scenes imminent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Imagine Dean teaching you about cars by Feanneth.
> 
> http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/64987420933/submitted-by-feanneth

“Kev, have you seen Dean anywhere?” It was far too early, and I had been awake for far too long. I’d spent a few hours ‘cleaning’ the bunker, but now I was simply bored out of my mind. To ease the boredom and growing antipathy, I’d made a round of hot drinks – strong black coffee for Dean, fruit tea for me, hot chocolate for Kevin and a light green tea for Sam. I’d already been into Sam’s room and deposited his drink, and now I was in Kevin’s, perched on his bed and feeling glum. The hot drinks had left rings of condensation on the tray, and I smudged them with my thumb.

“I think he was in the garage.” He was immersed in the latest tablet and was barely aware of what was going on most of the time; I’d been living in the bunker for a few weeks before I even realised he was there.

“Oh. Ok. Thanks.” I stood up again with the two remaining drinks. Dropping a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, I left the room. Standing outside the garage door, I hesitated. Being alone with Dean was difficult. After Christmas and the mistletoe and the panic attack…things were different. He looked after me too much and I needed him more than I wanted to admit. I didn’t want to want him. I didn’t want to have him worry about me. In the end I’d dithered for so long than Dean came out before I could go in. He opened the door somewhat abruptly and stopped.

“Marie?” I shut my eyes and counted slowly to five. I was aiming for ten, but he took his coffee and gripped my shoulder to steer me into the garage. Unresisting, I let him guide me to Baby, and felt my legs crumple as her radiator grill hit the back of my knees. Most of my tea was on the tray now, and I was too tired to care anymore. I let the tray drop from my hands, expecting a crash to drag me from my antipathy, but no crash came. I opened my eyes and frowned slightly at Dean. He was kneeling in front of me, coffee beside him, covered in tea and clutching the tray and mug to his chest.

“Marie? What the hell is going on?” His gruff voice had a concerned edge to it and I let my eyes close again. It was easier than being aware of what was going on. I gave a limp shrug and slid from Baby’s bonnet to sit in the puddle of tea on the floor. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I buried my head in my knees and began to rock gently. We sat like that for a few minutes, both covered in cinnamon tea, him kneeling in front of my rocking form. A slight scuffling noise told me he’d moved, and I assumed he was leaving the garage, but a sudden warmth appeared beside me and a strong arm was wrapped around me.

“Marie?” Suddenly everything I’d been holding back – the homesickness, the loneliness, the shock at finding myself in love with him, the pain of being in love with him, the horrors I’d encountered in my time with the Winchesters – burst out in a flood of tears. “Shit.” I curled into him one hand clutching at his wet shirt front and burying my head in his neck. Sobs wracked my body and echoed in the large space. At some point, the garage door opened again and Sam came in.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, man.” Dean’s voice had a hint of alarm in it, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. I hiccupped and suddenly realised how loud my sobs had been. In trying to calm down I noticed how close I was to him, and all the thoughts about how he’d never want to be with a stuck-up English girl like me overwhelmed me, and tears began to pour down my face again.

“Fuck sake!” I was getting frustrated with myself. I pushed myself off the floor, off Dean and ran blindly for the door.

They caught up with me three miles from the bunker, soaked to the skin from a sudden downpour and shaking like a leaf. My legs were cramping from running too fast and too far without a warm up, and my lungs were burning. Dean pulled off his jacket and slung it around my shoulders, and Sam stooped to pick me up. Neither said anything, just trudged back to the bunker in the rain.

By the time I was mostly dry and calm, I was too embarrassed by my actions to speak to them so I hid in my room until it was time for dinner. It was my turn to cook, so I wandered into the kitchen in sweat pants and a massive hoody, headphones in and the soundtrack to Garden State playing as loudly as I could stand. I wasn’t really looking where I was going, so when I walked into Dean I swore loudly and stood on his foot, hard.

“Ow!”

“Whoops.” My earlier misery came back in droves, and I struggled to maintain my neutral expression as I turned off my music and hung my headphones around my neck.

“Marie…what the hell is going on?” I massaged my forehead and tried to move past him. “You need to talk to me!”

“Dean, let me cook and talk, otherwise you won’t get any dinner.” I steeled myself and clenched my teeth together. Glancing at him as I opened the fridge, I noticed his face had fallen.

“Fine.” He hopped onto the side and sat there, waiting for me to start talking. I decided what I was going to cook and gathered my utensils and ingredients on the side opposite him. It was a strange homage to the intimacy we’d shared when I first moved into the bunker.

I began aggressively prepping vegetables and dropping them into pans of water as I started talking.

“Things are…hard, Dean. For me. I know I hunt with you and Sam sometimes, and even when I don’t I know Kevin and Crowley are here – but what with Kev being obsessed with his next challenge, and Crowley being an irritating dick…I get lonely. And homesick. I’ve lived in America for six months. I know no-one except you guys and my editor.” I punctuated my speech with chopping vegetables with the biggest knife I could manage. “And then, of course, there’s you.”

I let my sentence hang as I lugged the pans of water and vegetables over to the hob and lit the gas under them. I caught a glimpse of Dean’s face as I headed back to the side to begin preparing the meat. He was literally sitting right on the edge of the side and I struggled not to let a giggle emerge.

“What about me?” My silence had clearly got to him. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the frissons of tension and anxiety trickling down my spine.

“All of you.” It was the most I could managed and I stopped dicing the beef steaks I was preparing so I could close my eyes. “You distract me, Dean. I like you. As in like you like you. And I don’t know what to do.” Relief tempered by fear ran through me and I leaned heavily on the chopping board. I heard him climb off the side and take a step – forward or to the side I wasn’t sure, until he rested his hands on my hips.

“You like me like me?”

“Yes. Epizeuxis, don’t you know.”

“Epi- what?”

“Duplication of a word or phrase in immediate succession to generate emphasis.” I’d fallen back on old habits and my love of language. I felt Dean give a slight laugh and bowed my head as the warmth of his breath fanned over my neck. My stomach seemed to be cramping with anxiety and I felt every one of the years which separated us.

“Yeah?” Suddenly his breath was in my ear and his arms were wrapped around my waist, pressing the zipper of my hoody into my stomach. “What if I said I like you too?” I took a deep inhalation and felt him move closer to me.

“I’d either laugh or cry or both.” My voice was somewhat shaky – it matched my hands, and I was glad I’d put down the knife I was using – and he laughed into my neck. I screwed my face up in an agony of not knowing what to think.

“Look at you. You really don’t know, do you?” I unscrewed my face enough to raise an eyebrow.

“Know what?” My shoulders had hunched up and I made an effort to relax them and stretch out my neck. In an unexpectedly swift move, his lips were pressed to my pulse, my jaw, the tendons in my neck, my collar bone. I stood still, partially in shock, not sure if he was winding me up or being serious. “Dean…what don’t I know?”

“How I feel…about you.” His teeth were nipping at my earlobe and I turned my head to stop him. He let out a whimper as I moved away from him and a look of confusion crossed his face. I took a deep breath and turned all the way round.

“And…how is that?” I felt like I was asking the stupid question, but I’d been hurt too many times to let the simple act of kissing persuade me he liked me back. I hung my head slightly until he crooked a finger under my chin and lifted it.

“I like you. A lot. More than I should. More than I knew I could anymore.” I met his eyes and saw the hint of tears forming.

“Dean?” He swallowed and I was close enough to stroke the side of his neck without stretching. My tongue followed the path of my fingers and he swallowed again as I kissed the base of his neck and sucked lightly on the ridge of muscle along his shoulder. I rose onto my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck, smiling into his shoulder as he wrapped his own arms tightly around my waist, lifting me a couple of inches off the ground.

-

It was after dinner when Dean decided to take me out to visit Baby in the garage. I was still reeling from the kitchen and having spent dinner with his hand resting on my thigh, and I stumbled, stunned, after him. Sam had spent most of dinner squinting at me, as though wondering what had changed about me. Kevin was once again absent from dinner, and I left Sam to do the washing up.

I was still struggling to understand what had happened, when Dean popped Baby’s bonnet and pulled me over to peer into her engine.

“I want to teach you how to look after Baby.”

“You-you what?” I gazed at the engine and raised my eyebrows. “I’m not good with engines and mechanics, Dean. I don’t want to break her.”

“If Sam can do it, so can you.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Sam can maintain Baby?”

“Well…I taught him, once. And he ran her for a while when I was…away.” He looked uncomfortable and stared at the far wall of the garage for a moment.

“Dean?” I touched his chest for a moment, revelling in the luxury of such casual contact.

“Mmm?” He blinked. “Ok, so maintaining Baby…” He began by helping me name and identify all the parts of the engine – mostly stuff I remembered from secondary school science lessons on combustion engines – and then we moved on. I spent most of the time watching his face as he talked and gestured and took Baby’s engine apart, handing me parts to look after. His face had lit up and the stress lines had begun to relax as he became engrossed in stripping down the engine.

He was soon oily and I was far too hot, so I begged a moment. He looked at me.

“You could just take the hoody off.”

“I really can’t.” I felt the blush begin somewhere around my breasts and rise up my neck.

“Why?” I closed my eyes and let the blush work up my face. “Oh!” He looked at me with more interest.

“I don’t think I can deal with getting my favourite bra oily.” I let the sentence out quickly.

“Is that all you’ve got on under that thing?” I gave him a disgruntled look. ‘That thing’ was my favourite hoody. “It’s massive, you could hide anything under there!” I huffed and turned my back. His hands were on me. “Not that you are…” His voice was more rough than usual and he tilted his head to get at my neck again. I twisted before he could and met his lips with mine.

Suddenly we were kissing, all tongues and lips and teeth, my hands under his shirt and running over his shoulders and neck, my nails scraping his scalp and my fingers gripping his ribs and hips. He kissed me thoroughly, hands roaming my figure under my over-sized hoody, exploring breasts and waist and back and ass, running his fingers over the soft flesh of my stomach and hips, and up over shoulder blades and neck.

When we finally pulled apart, it was with kiss-bruised lips and dilated pupils. I swallowed hard and gazed at him.

“So…umm…maintaining Baby?”

“Fuck it.” He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he walked us to a wall. He pushed me against it and unzipped the top of my hoody slowly, following his hand with his lips. I let my head tip back and rest against the wall, and grinned at the ceiling. His tongue trailed back up my neck and I met his mouth with mine. He was grinding his hips gently against mine – almost subconsciously – matching the rhythm of our kissing, and I could feel his hardness growing against me. “Fuck.” He panted into my neck.  
“Dean?” I could feel the worry lines fall into place on my face as I slid my fingers across his cheekbones.

“I can’t…” I wriggled down between him and the wall, and looked up into his face. It was contorted with…I wasn’t entirely sure what.

“You can’t what?” He was still pressed against me, still pushing his body against mine, and I could still feel him throbbing against my stomach.

“We can’t do this yet.” He had his eyes closed and he was clearly trying to control himself, but his hands were resting on me, still slowly exploring my body. I took a breath and let my hand slide from his chest down his stomach to the hot hardness curving in his jeans.

“I know.” I whispered, my lips to his ear, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other fiddling with his belt buckle. “But we can have a little fun.”


	8. The Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got distracted again.  
> I'm sorry.  
> Less of an M rated this time, more of a T for...kissing (I was going for alliteration there, but I failed).  
> Also, this one's extremely short, but there were a few things I wanted to establish using this Imagine!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Imagine Dean’s reaction to you cutting off most of your hair by Anon.
> 
> http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/64611198101/submitted-by-anon

I stood in the bathroom, a big pair of kitchen scissors in hand. Checking the door was locked for the fifth time, I faced the mirror and set my jaw. No more hiding. I’d promised myself that when I moved to America. I’d promised myself that again when I met the Winchesters. And yet it was only now, six months after moving in with them, that I was finally acting on that promise. I gathered my abundance of red hair in a low pony tail, neatly lined up at the centre of my neck, and lifted the scissors. One quick chop later, and my hair was…gone. In a moment my hair had gone from reaching the middle of my back to barely brushing my shoulders. Swapping the kitchen scissors for a smaller pair, I fiddled with the style, settling on a new side parting and feathered side fringe. Satisfied, I gathered up the hair from the floor and put it in the bin, then hopped in the shower.

When I emerged, pink from the heat and wrapped in towels, Dean was outside the door, hopping from foot to foot. The moment the door was open, he was inside pushing me out. I smiled to myself and wandered into my room. Dressed and blow-dried, I re-emerged from my room incredibly conscious of my new hair. I’d heard the garage door slam closed as Dean returned to cleaning the cars, and I followed the sound of his slightly out-of-tune humming. Stepping into the garage, I closed the door quietly behind me and leant on it, head bowed and a smile playing on my lips. He glanced up at me, back down at the engine, and then whipped his head back up again.

“Marie?” He sounded…surprised. “What…I mean…I like it but…your hair?”

“I decided it was time for a change.” He dropped the chamois he was brandishing at Dorothy’s bike and walked towards me.

“I really like it.” He ran his fingers through its shortened length and stroked my back. “It brings out your face.” I looked at him, surprised.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You aren’t hiding anymore. There’s nothing for you to hide behind.”

“That’s the point. I don’t want to hide. I swore to myself when I came here that I’d stop hiding…and now I’m making good on that. I’m not hiding anymore.” I’d held my fringe back with snap clips and left the remainder of my hair in its natural form, and as I looked up at him it fell away from my face, leaving my neck bare. I’d found I was holding my head more proudly, and as I smiled at Dean, I felt stronger and more powerful than I ever had before. This was obviously evident, because he closed the gap between us, one hand playing with a section of my hair, the other resting on the side of my neck.

“You’re beautiful, did you know?”

“I’d never believe anyone else.” In my fearlessness, I placed my hands on his chest. “But I believe you.”

“You are.” He brushed his lips against mine and I smiled into the kiss with new bravery.


	9. Sleeping With in the Most Innocent Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh.  
> Although this is mostly set in bed there's no hanky-panky going on, as the chapter title suggests.  
> However, there's a shit load of snuggles and fluff, so go crazy on it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by:  
> Imagine catching Dean singing ‘Hey Jude’ to himself in the middle of the night because he can’t sleep by New Jersey is for Lovers.  
> Imagine Dean laying next to you asleep with his arm wrapped around you by Guardian of Horsemen and Dragons.  
> Imagine Dean murmuring your name while he sleeps by Anon.  
> Imagine falling asleep listening to Dean’s heartbeat by Anon.
> 
> http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/65285626738/submitted-by-newjerseyisforlovers  
> http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/64942465069/submitted-by-guardian-of-horsemen-and-dragons  
> http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/65406387127/submitted-by-anon  
> http://supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com/post/64458972484/submitted-by-anon

It was rare for me to be awake in the middle of the night, but it was a very dry January and I was desperately thirsty, so at 2am I stumbled, thoroughly disorientated, into the kitchen and downed a couple of pints of water. Refreshed and now more alert, I became aware of a slightly discordant humming coming from Dean’s room. Tiptoeing across the main room, I stood outside his door and listened intently. He seemed to be singing _Hey Jude_ to himself. I tapped lightly on his door. The humming stopped and he stumbled to the door, apparently stubbing his toes on every available piece of furniture.

“Can’t sleep?” He frowned at me grumpily, scratching his bare stomach. I looked down at myself. I was indeed still wearing the enormous sleep tee I’d been given when I left England – it’d been designed by one of my best friends and featured a large heart with a Union Jack design – and my hair was a mess as I’d expect at 2am. “Let me in, then.” Raking my fingers through my hair, I plonked myself on the side of the bed which looked least sleep-ruffled and curled up against the head board. He got into bed beside me and gave me puppy-dog eyes.

“I’ve been trying for hours. I just can’t quite get comfortable or something.” I tucked myself into the top of his duvet and manoeuvred both of us until he was lying on his side with his head resting on my stomach. I let my hands trail gently over the skin of his shoulder and back and took a breath.

“ _Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, Then you can start to make it better._ ” I was singing quietly, paying homage to Mary, and turning a pop ballad into a lullaby once again. “ _Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, Then you begin to make it better._ ” By the time I reached ‘ _Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_ ’, Dean’s breathing had slowed and deepened, and by the time I got to ‘ _Hey Jude, don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her_ ’, he was snoring gently.

With utmost care, I moved him so his head was laying on a pillow rather than my stomach, and I curled into his side. Almost instinctively, his arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer to him. I tucked the duvet over us both, and rested my hand over his heart. I lay in the dark, snuggled close to him, bathing in the warmth he released, and smiled into his skin. I’d been in love before. I’d been in bed with people I loved before. But never had it ever felt so good, so pure, so right. I kissed his shoulder and rested my head in the hollow there, listening to the slow thudding of his heart. He moved to curl around me more and let out a whimper and moan as he did.

“Mm…Marie…” I stifled my smile against his skin and sank into a stupor of happiness. I was definitely in love with Dean Winchester. But he was in love with me, too. And I was lying in bed, tangled up with him, listening to him murmur my name in his sleep. Nothing gets much better than that. I curled against him more closely and listened to the beating of his heart. Thunder crashed around the bunker, but he didn’t stir. I listened to the heavy rainfall and the rumbling of the thunder, and became absorbed in the rhythms of Dean’s heartbeat and the rain and the intermittent claps of thunder until, without even noticing it, I fell asleep in his arms.


End file.
